NonLove
by CampionSayn
Summary: A small poetic piece on underworld love. Drabble on the Jokerz of RotJ.


Title: NonLove  
>Summary: A small poetic piece on underworld love. Drabble on the Jokerz of RotJ.<br>Disclaimer: I don't own anything and make no money from any of this.  
>Warning: You'll actually need a brain to understand that this is an erotic prompt in a poetic text.<br>Dedication: To all the lucky people out there that actually understand anything I write and, best of all, say so when they have time or will power to review it.

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><p>Among the crowds and hoards of wicked grins and cackling jokes, there is symbolism and there is embodiment. If these beings took form in relationships, what would they be that nobody would ever say out loud?<p>

Over in the darkest part of Gotham, among the alleys that are rarely taken, there is Bonk and there is Chucko. Two beings that have come to embody brutal cravings and greedy taking. It is the darker forms of wanting lust and naked earning that people simply do not talk about in polite company. Muscled and powerful white arms with an over six foot body to match could easily find a woman of the roads and take her in a sleazy hotel with smoke stains caking the walls where he would get his fill but she could not get hers without tough fingers straining her throat. Likewise, pure fat slapping against fat and wicked slyness would easily overpower a pretty young thing walking too far from home; quick, mean, and ended as quickly as it began. The ripping off of a band-aid with a knife to the throat so she would not scream when he jammed himself into her for one minute—one—and then walked away, whistling with her purse swinging in his hand. His zipper would make a sick hissing noise.

In the uptown trail that leads many college and even some high school students to clubs that flow only on caffeine, alcohol, blinking and multi-color lighting, the beat of bodies closely touching and music turned up so loud as to blow out eardrums, there is compulsive and orgasmic want that walks the whole area twice before choosing a lucky son of a bitch to draw into her car so Delia—heroine goddess and a loud one at that—can pressed him to the leather of the seats with nothing but her naked torso and breasts; all in an attempt to suck the man dry like the succubus she is and then leave him wanting more. She is the walking orgasm that claims all until she's done with it, which is fine.

In the quiet, tenement buildings with the upright animals, free love reigns supreme and is given and taken like air for a Woof; pure animal desire. Animal desire that finds someone or gives someone with no questions asked or needed except for the checking of any possible diseases. The clothes—if bothered to wear any to begin with—are placed around what appears to be a nest of old sheets and mattresses, two bodies entangled with the male on top and the woman on the bottom; sharp teeth piece the flesh of the neckline, claws pricking at barely there breasts and the sounds of pistoning in place is enough to cause a scream of the inner and out animal.

In the parks and in the hospitals and in the Laundromats that circle every place in every town in the world, lithe grace walks in modest clothing as affection-not-lust-not-love. She is the small touches of a hand on a hand, the raising of hair on the back of the neck with a whisper in the ear from Deidre and the constant feeling of yes, a person should want this little thing, but does not feel they deserve her or it. The hands pull away and the offer turns cold in soft blue eyes.

In a world where the only contact is through an e-mail given on a site that says to offer dating but is really just the means to an end, there is impervious and unattainable wanting love that drives a Ghoul. From anywhere in Gotham, a digital invitation could be sent and then he is meeting whoever wants him in a hotel, a theater, a back alley, their car, or out in the open. He is the love that people want because they know they can only have it for a little, even if they think that once he gets to know them, maybe he'd want to stay. It never happens, though.

That's life and that is love in the underworld. People take what they can get.


End file.
